


Lovely

by Separatist_Apologist



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Battle Couple, F/M, Galactic politics, Not Canon Compliant, Plot With Porn, Shared History, Shared Trauma, anyway, it takes so much time to research, jumping to the end, why do i feel like all my stories should feature galactic politics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:33:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27790816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Separatist_Apologist/pseuds/Separatist_Apologist
Summary: Isn't it lovely, all alone? Heart made of glass, my mind of stone. Tear me to pieces, skin and bone. Hello, welcome home.--Bryndìs Vesen has one simple task: find out what's happening on Nevarro to help bolster Senator Leia Organa's bid for Chancellor of the Republic. It should be the easiest task of her career; success promises a future hunting the Empire, and she isn't ready to examine the past that brought her to the Rebellion. Din Djarin, a Mandalorian looking for peace after destroying Moff Gideon, isn't interested in the galactic politics that brings her to his town. When they realize they knew each other as children, they'll be forced to confront their shared past.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 15





	1. Resentment

**Author's Note:**

> I think, in the scheme of things, I just like messy people. People who look like they need a hug. You ever look at someone and think, I could fix you? 
> 
> Anyway, this has been living in my brain for a long time and I finally finished it this weekend. I have 20 chapters, so it moves pretty quickly (although, it's possible I'll rearrange stuff halfway through this, like I always do) and has an ending that isn't going to make you want to die.
> 
> There are a multitude of chapters that are just sex. I'll warn you ahead of time so you can skip through it if you want to. Also, this gets a general TW for loss/grief mentions. I don't think any of it is too terribly bad, but your milage may vary. You'll notice the warning above, too. Is it Star Wars if we don't describe a little blood?
> 
> And lastly, I know a lot of people like Bo Katan. I don't. I think she's a shady, conniving person, and that's really reflected in the narrative.

_It starts with a spark, then it's a wildfire_

_Burning me up, burning me up_

_I dance with demons on a high wire_

_Lift me up, lifting me up_

_Resentment_

_\--_

_\---_

_\--_

Bryndìs Vesen was dead on her feet as she walked through Republic City on Coruscant, high heeled shoes in her hands. If anyone had anything to say about a woman in blood splattered dress walking barefoot, they kept it to themselves; on Coruscant, anything was possible. For Bryn, this was just another job that ended like they all did; her, covered in their blood and them, dead. This particular one had taken two months of her time, trapped on a swampy nowhere planet in the Mid-Rim, part of the boundaries set up for the Empire. Little swaths had been cut out all over the galaxy and as long as the Empire stayed within those areas, Chancellor Mothma could claim they had finally achieved peace.

Bryn knew better. The Empire would never give them peace, not until every last rat was pulled from its hole and slaughtered without mercy. Bryn was technically no longer employed by the New Republic, her position as a covert assassin eliminated with the armistice Mothma signed, taking apart the Republic Navy with one fell swoop of her pen. Bryn never reported to Mothma to begin with, and when Leia Organa continued to send her out, Bryn kept going. It had been Leia who recruited her when she was a teenager, Leia who had made sure she knew how to fight, and Leia who had understood what drove Bryn to put her shoes back on and track an Imperialist for weeks, sometimes months.

She took the turbo lift up, her thoughts still lingering on what brought her here, to Coruscant, and the apartment she’d lived in for nearly two years. It was the first home she’d ever had, save for when she was a child. That hadn’t lasted long, either. She’d been seven when the Empire came and wiped Aq Vetina from the map with droids. She’d escaped, barely, when a squad of Mandalorian’s rained down from the sky, though she’d had enough sense to keep herself hidden, playing dead underneath her mother’s body. She wasn’t the only one who survived and stayed behind, but she was the only one of all the people she knew, who did, and she’d carried that guilt with her. Killing Imperialists was the only thing that eased it; every dead body brought her a little closer to peace. She hoped, anyway.

Not that night. The turbo lift doors dinged open and she stepped into her no bedroom, tiny box of an apartment, dropping her shoes to the wood floor without ceremony. She flipped on a light and found Leia Organa sitting at her tiny, round two chair dining table.

“Are we not paying you enough?” Leia asked, wiping imaginary dirt from the back of her dress as she stood.

“You pay me fine,” Bryn replied with a frown. She didn’t need much more than a place she could sleep and shower. She was barely in it for longer than a night, evidenced by Leia waiting for her on her return.

“Have you thought about retirement?” Leia asked, as she always did before offering Bryn a new assignment. It was a way out; Leia would have done anything for her if she decided she was ready to quit, though Bryn knew what Leia really wanted was for her to come work with her in an official capacity in the Senate. Bryn was willing to do a lot of things for Leia, but politics had never been one of them.

“I gave it no thought,” Bryn replied, as she _always_ did, sitting as Leia did the same. “What do you got?”

“You won’t like it.”

Bryn shrugged. “Try me.”

“Moff Gideon is dead,” she told Bryn without preamble, sliding a disc towards her.

“Good for him,” Bryn caught the disc with a smile before grabbing her holo projector from the tiny white side table next to her bed. She set it on the table and slid the disc in, pleased beyond words to see his dead body. “How?”  
“The million-credit question,” Leia replied. “No one knows. It happened out on Nevarro; the third report we’ve gotten about the Empire on that planet. Something is going on out there, but no one is willing to talk.”

“What does that have to do with me?” Bryn asked, her heart sinking. Leia’s brown eyes bored into Bryn’s face.

“I want you to go out there and do what you do best-“

“Murder?” Bryn interrupted, though she knew what Leia really meant.

“Charm one of the locals, get a story, preferably from someone who was directly involved, and find out what is going on out there. Nevarro is outside the bounds for the Empire. We could level sanctions, make them feel some pain, even if it’s just through fines and stricter rules.”

“Is Mothma going to be okay with that?” Bryn asked her superior. Mothma was famously not interested in dealing with the Empire beyond what had already been done.

“I’m going to run for Chancellor,” Leia told her. “I’m announcing it this week. Things will be different, and your report is going to help me build support from planets that are upset with how the Empire was given a slap on the wrist.”

“How long are you thinking I’ll be there?”

“Couple days, a week or two at most. Do this job and when you come back, with any luck, we’ll be a few short months away from a new Chancellor. You’ll be able to work on the books again.”

“A few weeks to be allowed to hunt the Empire in earnest again? I’d do far more. And for the record, Senator, I think you’d be an incredible Chancellor.”

Leia smiled. “There is one other thing you should know. There is a Mandalorian there, and it’s almost a guarantee he’s directly involved somehow.”

Bryn sunk into her chair slightly, watching Gideon’s dead body rotate slowly around her kitchen table. Only Leia knew Bryn’s backstory, the only person Bryn really trusted with it. Leia was still trying to help her untangle who had ordered the destruction of the settlement to begin with, with the explicit promise to in turn exterminate them, should they still be alive. No one really understood why a refugee settlement had been a target and it seemed like the decision had been made off any official records. It was the thing she wanted the most; true vindication. Still, Bryn avoided Mandalorian’s like the plague, for obvious reasons.

“How involved?”

“If I had to guess, it’s possible he aided Gideon in some way. No one was willing to talk about the Mandelorian; I’d guess they’re scared.”

“You know, for all my skills, I can’t take down a Mandalorian, right?”

“I’m not asking you to. For all we know, the Mandalorian took off when Gideon died. I just wanted to warn you, so you didn’t walk in totally blind.”

Bryn nodded, hoping Leia was right. “I’ll give you six months and in exchange, you’ll wipe the floor with Mothma.”

Leia smiled warmly. “You’ve got a deal.”

She would leave in the morning; she wanted time to sleep, shower, and eat something, not necessarily in that order. It would give her time to think about a strategy. Nevarro was a bounty hunter’s paradise, at least, according to the limited information about it. It wasn’t the kind of place she needed to stroll into dressed up like a piece of meat. Coming in dressed like she was part of the Republic Army was probably good enough. Flex her status as Commander Vesen, subtly threat whoever was in charge with a permanent patrol, and if none of that worked, slide a few credits under the table for information.

If none of _that_ worked…well. She walked around with a vibro blade for a reason. Some people only understood force and while Bryn preferred easier ways, she wasn’t above violence if it served a larger purpose. She suspected it was what Mothma disliked most about her. Mothma believed in order and faith in a system that served very few people well. Bryn knew all too well what blind faith looked like and the damage it could cause. Mothma had gotten to lead the Rebellion army from the safety of bunkers, never getting in the action unless she was accidentally forced into it. There was no love lost between them.

Bryn did what she had to do, and she always had. You didn’t walk away one of the sole survivors of a massacre as a child without developing a sense of who you couldn’t and couldn’t trust. If Mothma found her sense of morality skewed, she could blame the Empire. Bryn has lost everything that day on Aq Vetina and, though she’d squashed most of her time there deep in a box, the loss was what drove her forward and kept her going.

As she stepped out of the shower, her data pad buzzed. Vane Kham, Mothma’s personal security and her occasionally booty call, was sending her a message to see what she was up to. If he knew she was back, that meant Mothma did too. Her recent, frequent outings were going to become suspicious if Leia didn’t slow them down. Bryn stared down at the mission. She didn’t particularly like Vane, and she never really had. He’d flown with the navy while she’d been a part of the ground forces. Vane liked organized and strict and Bryn was messy; they’d fought constantly until the battle of Naboo, where she’d fucked him in an effort to get him out of her system.

It worked, in a way. He didn’t bother her anymore, and when they were both transferred to Coruscant, they continued the arrangement. He was good at what he did, if what he did was just her and nothing else. Politically he was a nightmare, constantly poking around where he didn’t belong. She wondered if he’d keep sleeping with her if Leia became Chancellor.

She tossed her data pad into the bag she was packing before crawling into bed.

Probably not.


	2. The One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter will alternate perspectives. I hope that's not too clunky!

_We never painted by the numbers but we were making it count_

_You know the greatest loves of all time are over now_

_I guess you never know and it's another day waking up alone_

_But we were something, don't you think so?_

\--

\---

\--

“The New Republic is sending Nevarro a babysitter,” Greef Karga told his companions, Cara Dune and Din Djarin. “After what happened with Gideon.”

Cara rolled her brown eyes as Din watched Karga slump into himself. “We just got this place back up and running. It’s gonna spook people if they see a Republic soldier patrolling.”

“Who are they sending?” Cara asked, leaning forward on the table. “Did they say?”

Greef shook his head. “I knew not talking to the scout was a bad idea. We could have made up any story. This is going to be bad for business.”

“Now wait, hold on. It depends on who they send,” Cara argued, eyes far away. “Not everyone is a _complete_ fuck up.”

Din and Greef both turned to look at her. She sighed. “Okay _most_ of them are. Everyone good got out after the disarmament. I’d guess they’re sending Vane Kham. He’s Mothma’s personal pet, and coincidentally, an absolute idiot. He’ll bluster around, everyone will realize he’s useless, and things will continue as usual.”

“I hope you’re right,” Greef replied, dark face lined with worry. “It took too long to rebuild our peace.”

Din found he agreed with that statement. Since he’d decided to raise Grogu on his own, Nevarro had become a home, one he was willing to defend with his life. Killing Gideon to protect that peace was a small price to pay. In the aftermath, they’d all settled comfortably into an easy routine. The kid went to school and Din took the odd job when he found himself restless or low on funds. A New Republic stooge was the _last_ thing he wanted to deal with.

“We could just tell him the truth,” Cara offered. “Or, a version of the truth. Leave some things out.”

It didn’t need to be said; leaving Grogu out of the narrative was imperative. No one wanted the New Republic swooping in and attempting to steal the kid, not after what they’d dealt with from the Empire. He couldn’t afford to fight another war, especially not with the current regime.

“No,” Din finally said, the final word on the subject. “What makes you sure they’d believe anything we told them?”

“He’s right,” Greef nodded in agreement. “They might send even more soldiers, patrol harder. Or worse, maybe establish an embassy.”

They all grimaced.

“Hey boss,” Mythrol interrupted their conversation, drawing identical looks of dislike from everyone at the table. “Incoming freighter.”

“It was supposed to be one person, not a company!” Greef replied in a panic, sliding out of the booth to head towards the dock. Cara shot him a look.

“Wanna go check out the stooge?”

“Not really.” He still followed behind her, watching Greef jog towards the port. A light-weight MC-80 assault cruiser was descending. He recognized the style, built by the Mon Calamari, likely sometime during the Empire, though it had clearly been retrofitted since then. It was much smaller than the typical cruiser and lacked the usual cigar style that the larger transport freighters had. This ship was winged, and much of the outside had been rebuilt with new, lightweight durasteel.

“Well, would you look at that,” Cara said from beside him, uncrossing her arms with a smile. “What are the odds?”

“What?” He asked, watching Cara make her way over towards Greef. He followed, his curiosity getting the better of him.

A docking ramp descended, bringing with it a woman, clad in tight, red pants and an equally tight, sleeveless black shirt. She had a red arm band wrapped around her right upper bicep and a thick, silver belt slung low across her hips that secured tightly around her upper left thigh to hold, among other things, a heavy looking blaster.

Glossy, red hair tumbled down her back, with tiny braids along the side of her scalp keeping her hair off her shoulders and off her face. A long-handled sword was slung across her back, it’s silver hilt visible over her shoulder. Something about her looked familiar to him, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

“Bryndìs Vesen!” Cara called, drawing the green eyes of the woman in question. She looked at Cara with clear surprise.

“Cara?” She asked, stopping for a moment. “Cara _Dune?_ ” She laughed, stepping into a tight embrace from Cara. “What are _you_ doing all the way out here?”

“ _You’re_ the fuck up from the New Republic?” Cara laughed, clapping Bryndìs’ shoulder. Din’s breathing sped up as he realized where he knew her from.

“The one and only,” she agreed without malice.

“I heard you retired,” Cara told her, leading her towards Greef.   
“Retired,” Bryndìs agreed, using air quotes around the word. “If you asked, I am Leia Organa’s personal security detail.”

“Of course,” Cara laughed, looking around her. “Scouting a new home for the Senator, are you?”

“Something like that,” the red head agreed, looking at Greef.

“We don’t need trouble out here,” Greef began, his chest puffed out just slightly.

“Sure,” Bryndìs agreed easily. “I’ve got questions, you could answer them, and I’ll leave.”

“And if we don’t?” Din asked, wanting to speak to her but unsure what to say. For the first time, she looked at him as his heart pounded. There was no way for her to recognize him beneath the armor, though a small part of him hoped she might.

She shrugged after studying him for a long moment. “I’ve got time. It would be easier if you told me, though. Save everyone the hassle of making new friends.”

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you like,” Greef interrupted, perhaps sensing the tension between Din and Bryndìs. “If you take your uniform off.”

A tiny resistance patch, sewn red against the black of her shirt, was visible on the bottom of her hem. Any bounty hunter worth their salt would see it immediately. Bryndìs reached down, almost involuntarily it seemed, and fingered the patch between her fingers.

“Have it your way,” she agreed without malice, though she was still staring at Din. “I’m not your enemy.”

“Of course you’re not,” Greef agreed, aware that Cara still had a friendly arm around Bryndìs. Not that it mattered, but Cara’s familiarity would make it a lot easier for Bryndìs to poke around, as Cara clearly trusted her.

“C’mon,” Cara interrupted Din’s thoughts, unaware she was doing so. “Let’s get you settled in. I want to hear _everything_ you’ve been up to since Naboo.”

Bryn took her eyes off him to smile at Cara. “Everything?”

He didn’t stick around to listen to the rest of the conversation, his mind churning. He’d been just a boy when his family had been relocated to a refugee settlement, forced by the Empire, who then, two years later, came to destroy that very same settlement. He’d been rescued by Mandalorians and had always assumed everyone else that lived there who hadn’t gone with them had died.

And yet, here she was, a living, breathing, full grown woman. Somehow, against impossible odds, she’d survived the massacre and made it out, all the way to the New Republic. His only friend as a kid, the girl he’d imagined he would marry someday, back when he still hoped for an easy, normal life. The only person he’d ever kissed.

Did she know others who had made it out? Why hadn’t she gone with the Mandalorians? How had she survived? He had hundreds of questions, none of which he knew how to articulate.

That had been a lifetime ago. He other considerations now, like keeping the kid safe and the New Republic out of his business. He wasn’t a boy anymore and, judging by the looks of her, she wasn’t that little girl anymore, either. Until he knew he could trust her, he would offer her nothing but his resistance.

Still. As he walked to the school to pick up Grogu, a memory slammed into his chest, as vivid as it had been the day it happened.

_He was new, and he was shy. His mother had taken him next door, where a little girl with the strange colored hair lived, insisting it was time to make friends. He’d watched her for the last week from the safety of his front porch. She was always smiling, always laughing. He liked that. When his mother explained why she was there, the girl’s mother, her gray hair neatly arranged into a soft bun at the nape of her neck, smiled and called for her daughter._

_“Why don’t you two go play?” She suggested as the girl looked him over with curious eyes. Was she nervous, like he was?_

_“My name is Bryndìs,” she said, green eyes bright with delight. “It’s not so bad here, if you know where to go.” She didn’t seem nervous at all._

_“I’m Din,” he replied shyly, eyes drawn to her copper red hair. He’d never seen anyone with hair that color before._

_She rocked back on her heels, smiling widely. “That’s a good name. Where are you from?”_

_He shrugged. She nodded with as much sympathy as a seven-year-old could muster. “Me either. Do you like playing with balls?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“There is a place just outside town, it’s mostly mud but sometimes there’s grass and it’s a good place to kick a ball. Do you want to go with me?”_

_“Yeah,” he agreed, taking the hand she extended. He barely remembered leaving their first home, though he remembered the fear of having to go. Her hand was warm in his, and as he left his small home behind, he thought things would be okay._


End file.
